


The Devil You Know

by The_lazy_eye, tinyarmedtrex



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: High School AU, M/M, Scream AU, its a horror fic you guys, tw: character death, tw: gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2020-10-04 03:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/pseuds/tinyarmedtrex
Summary: “What do you want?”“I already told you. I want to talk to you.”“Okay.” The feeling in the pit of his stomach was beginning to ice over into something more sinister than annoyance. Now, it was more like dread. “What do you want to talk about?”“What movie are you watching?”He took a deep breath in before answering. “Amityville Horror.” He looked around his house, at all of the dark windows and open spaces that he could be watched from. His skin crawled with anxiety but he stayed rooted to the ground.“Ah, a classic. I love horror movies. Is this one your favorite?”The words got caught in his throat again but he managed to say, “Yeah.”“Do you want to know what my favorite is?”“I – I don’t know,” he said back.“Scream. I love a good slasher movie.”





	1. When A Stranger Calls

“Hello?”

For a moment there was nothing on the other end of the phone. No static, no breathing. Not a single noise came through the receiver. 

“Hello?” he repeated. 

Nothing. 

Silence echoed through the phone until a voice, unfamiliar and maybe even distorted, came from the speaker. “Who is this?”

“What do you mean? You called me.”

“Did I? I could have sworn you called me.”

“Sorry, man. Wrong number, then.”

The phone clicked off and Adrian lowered it back down. Before the call he had instagram open and was passing the time by idly looking through it. Familiar faces smiled up at him from the screen, images of cats and beaches and whatever else blurring as he continued his scroll. It was something nice to pass the time while he waited. In the other room, the TV glowed with the intro screen to Amityville Horror. 

The music from it drifted back into the kitchen. 

On his phone screen, he could see pictures of the people he went to highschool with. Beverly Marsh posing by a stream with the caption  _ throwback thurs!  _ Henry Bowers and his gang of thugs holding knives and trying to look cool. Eddie Kaspbrak and Stan Uris looking more than annoyed on Richie Tozier’s page. The only caption was a string of emojis. 

Something soft yet nostalgic passed over Adrian, then. He was quite fond of most of these people, they had all spent the past twelve years going to school together. It was like watching the people you loved – or hated- grow up around you. Of course, there were  _ a few  _ people he’d be more than happy to never see again. Some people he was closer to than others, and some people he had more than a sordid past with, but overall, he was fond. Romance, friendship, competition. What would it matter in a couple years, anyway? He’s sure he’d look back on this with rose tinted glasses, so why not start now?

The sound of his phone ringing cut off any string of thoughts he had. 

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry, I guess I dialed the wrong number.”

Adrian, previously standing with one hand resting on the granite and one hand holding the phone, pushed off and spun. The house was mostly dark, the only light coming from the overhead light on the stove and the TV screen in the living room. From his new position, he could see all the way down the hall to his front door. It was shrouded in darkness.

“You called back just to tell me you’re sorry?”

“Yeah.” 

Something settled in the pit of Adrian’s stomach. It was subtle, but annoying. Kind of like how this guy was getting annoying. “You’re forgiven. Bye.” 

“Wait! Don’t hang up. I’m lonely, can we talk for a bit?”

“Sorry, man. I’m busy,” Adrian said. It wasn’t a lie, he was busy. He was just paused, waiting for Don to show up. 

“But aren’t you bored, your boyfriend isn’t even there yet.”

Those words made Adrian’s blood run cold. How did this creep know that Don was on his way over? How did he know he wasn’t there yet?

“How –” he started and then stopped, the words getting caught in his throat, “How do you know that?”

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Automatically the hand holding his phone drifted away from Adrian’s ear. His eyes were fixed on the floor, staring into everything and nothing at the same time. Who was this guy? How the fuck did he know who Adrian was or who he was dating or  _ what he was doing right now? _

Just as the phone started to drift toward his waist, he heard a sharp, “Don’t you dare hang up on me.”

His arm snapped back up to his ear. Every part of his body felt like it was shaking. “What do you want?”

“I already told you. I want to talk to you.”

“Okay.” The feeling in the pit of his stomach was beginning to ice over into something more sinister than annoyance. Now, it was more like dread. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What movie are you watching?”

He took a deep breath before answering. “Amityville Horror.” 

He looked around his house, at all of the dark windows and open spaces that he could be watching from. His skin crawled with anxiety but he stayed rooted to the ground. 

“Ah, a classic. I love horror movies. Is this one your favorite?”

The words got caught in his throat again but he managed to say, “Yeah.”

“Do you want to know what my favorite is?”

Adrian couldn’t speak, so he didn’t. He made a small noise of affirmation, hoping that was enough. 

“Guess.”

“I – I don’t know,” he said back. 

“Scream. I love a good  _ slasher  _ movie.”

“Scream is good,” Adrian said. It came out automatically. He was starting to panic. The longer he stayed on the phone, the more fear iced into his bones. He needed to find a way out of this phone call, maybe he could call his parents, or maybe he could call Don. Anyone who made him feel a little bit safer. “I think Don is here. I have to go.”

“Not so fast. We’re not done.”

“What do you want from me?” Adrian’s voice was shaking. Every syllable seemed to be multiplied by three. He didn’t know what to do. Logically, he knew he could hang up and call the cops, but something inside of him was telling him that if he did that, this could get a whole lot worse. 

“I want to play a game. Then you can go, I promise.”

“What game?”

“A guessing game.”

“What happens if I don’t play?”

A laugh echoed from the other end of the phone. “Turn on the backyard light, Adrian.”

Slowly, Adrian moved across the kitchen. The blinds to the sliding glass doors were closed and he slowly, slowly pushed them open. The yard out back was pitch black. Even if he squinted his eyes, he couldn’t see out into the darkness. 

With a shaking hand, he flicked the light switch. 

Light suddenly flooded the backyard. It was almost blinding, but not enough to stop him from seeing what was positioned in the center of his patio. 

Tied to a chair, blood dripping down the side of his face, eyes wide with terror. 

Don Hagarty. 

A sob broke out of Adrian, “Oh, God.  _ Don!” _

His knees buckled almost instantaneously and he fell against the door, pressing his face against the glass and staring out at his beaten boyfriend. He was alive, but something in the back of Adrian’s head echoed  _ not for long.  _

“Please, don’t hurt him.”

“That all depends on you. Play with me.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“It’ll be fun. C’mon, you said you liked horror movies. All you have to do is answer a few questions about them. A little bit of trivia, if you will. If you get them all right, Don lives.”

“I can’t,” Adrian sobbed. He couldn’t even remember the numbers on his front mailbox, how the hell was he supposed to remember anything about some worthless movies while the love of his life was tied up outside? “Please.”

“Name the killer in Halloween.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. I know you do, Adrian. C’mon, this is an easy one.”

His mind was blank. All he could think about was the terrified look in those emerald eyes across from him. He pressed himself harder against the glass, mind flicking back and forth for the answer. “Michael Myers?”

“That’s right,” the voice almost sounded soothing. Proud, maybe. It was gentle in this horribly twisted way. “Name the killer in Friday the 13 th .”

“Please, stop,” Adrian sobbed. In front of him, Don pulled on his restraints. His eyes flicked to something beyond the house, something in the shadows. Who the fuck cares who the killer in Friday the 13 th was? It’s not real! None of that matters! “ _ Please.” _

“Answer the question.”

“I – I don’t know!” The sobs were coming harder now, thick streams of tears dripping down Adrian’s face. He felt like he was running out of time and any moment some sicko freak would come out of the shadows and kill them both. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t  _ think!  _ Why does matter? Why is  _ this  _ life and death? Why – “Jason! It’s Jason Voorhees!” 

The line went silent for a moment. It cracked once and then the voice said, “Sorry, Adrian. Wrong answer.”

“No! No, please! It’s Jason, I know it is! I’ve seen that movie a thousand times!”

“Then you should know Jason's  _ mother _ , Mrs. Vorhees was the original killer. Jason didn't show up until the sequel.” 

The porch lights clipped off and Adrian screamed. The jagged sound of his voice bounced back off the glass and pierced into his own ears. It almost didn’t sound like him. Maybe it  _ wasn’t  _ him. Maybe his screams were mixing in with the screams of something much more horrific.

“Please don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him,” Adrian babbled into the phone. His eyes were shut tight, his teeth practically splitting under the pressure of him clenching his jaw. He chanted nonsense pleas into the phone over and over again but he was met with silence. 

Without warning, the lights snapped back on. Light flooded the backs of Adrian’s eyelids but he kept them shut. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to  _ know _ . Sobs racked his body, violent shudders shaking his spin and shoulders. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t  _ do this. _

“Lucky for you there’s a bonus round. Too bad poor Don out there didn’t make the cut.”

Adrian didn’t answer. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. Terror seized him from the inside out until he was nothing but a blubbering, heaving mess. 

“Tell me, Adrian…”

The words reached Adrian somehow, through the thick veil of fear and grief. He sat and waited for more, but it didn’t come. The only thing that told him the phone call was still connected was the soft sound of breathing on the other end. 

Finally, after what felt like an entirety of waiting, the stranger spoke, “Which door am I at?”

Adrian’s eyes snapped open, realization crashing down on him. He left his front door unlocked for Don.  _ Don _ .

Oh god, now he saw him. He was there, still tied to the chair, but he wasn’t the same anymore. His stomach was split open in a horrifying display of guts and blood and flesh. His eyes were still open, but they were rolled back into his head as it sat lifelessly on his shoulders. Blood oozed down his open sternum onto the concrete below, pooling in a thick mass and steadily growing. How could one person hold that much blood? God, it was everywhere. It looked like a swimming pool or a bubble bath. God, it was  _ steaming.  _

Adrian threw up on the kitchen floor. 

“Tick tock,” the voice said and by some miraculous force, that snapped Adrian out of the haze he was in.

He got up and sprinted toward the front door. He could hear the stranger laughing through the phone, wild and maniacal. Adrian threw his entire body against the wood, deadbolting the lock and chaining it for good measure. 

“Wrong answer.”

There was a crash from the other side of the house, the sound of glass breaking. Fuck, the back door. Whoever this sick fuck is must have burst through the glass. 

Adrian stumbled, losing his purchase on the ground and crashing down on the hardwood floors of his entryway. He scrambled on all four to the stairs and clambered his way up. Adrenaline kicked in, blood pounded in his ears. He was desperate to escape, desperate to get away from whoever this monster was. 

About halfway up the stairs, he looked down and caught sight of a figure in the hall. It was wearing a long, dark cloak to cover most of its body and its head was shielded by a bright clown mask. Tufts of orange hair bounded along its shoulders and jaw as it made its way through the house and toward the stairs. The face was a ghastly white with painted red lip and a big red nose. The mouth had sharp teeth painted on. 

It looked like a monster and Adrian thought to himself,  _ Oh, god, I’m living in a horror movie. _

He kept going, pulling himself up each stair as fast as he could. As soon as he reached the top, he moved to stand, grabbing the banister, hoisting himself up and around the final step. He made it maybe one or two steps further when something grabbed his ankle and pulled. His weight shifted and he went down, arms hardly catching his fall. 

A scream fell out of his mouth, high pitched and bat-shit scared. “God, no! Please!”

This time the figure didn’t talk. It just pulled on Adrian’s leg until he was back at the very top of the stairs. Then, with one final motion, it practically threw Adrian’s lanky body down to the first floor. Each step hammered new pains into Adrian’s body. His arms, his neck, his back. Everything lit on fire as he tumbled to the bottom. 

He laid at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, consciousness slipping in and out of his brain. Everything hurt, but the fear of what was in his house overrode his system. He reached out and grabbed the floor, dragging himself slowly across the entryway. 

Above him, the stranger watched.

He didn’t make it far before it descended the stairs again. It stood over him, watching him crawl away. It was if it was taunting him, trying to make him think he could escape. Another series of broken sobs escaped his lips. Between sobs, Adrian begged for his life. 

The figure didn’t say anything. It didn’t even nod in his direction. All it did was lift up one boot and slowly press it down into the middle of Adrian’s back. Then, it leaned down and flipped Adrian over, replacing its boot on his chest. 

The last thing Adrian saw before the world went back was a bloody knife glinting in the darkness and the red painted smile of a joyful clown. 

**Eddie** . 

Eddie slammed his locker shut, turning to talk to his friends that surrounded him. 

“I blew that math test you guys,” He said miserably. “It’s summer school for me.” 

Richie moved in, throwing an easy arm around him. “You just need ol’ Richie to tutor you. Come on, Eds, I’ve offered before.” 

Eddie caught Stan’s eyes and they had a quick, silent conversation. Stan knew how Eddie felt about Richie, how he’d felt about him for years, and how it had gotten worse lately. He had been trying to avoid spending time alone with the lanky man, worried that Richie would figure out that his feelings were much more than friendly. 

“I’ll be fine. Bev offered to tutor me.”

Bev grinned at him, flashing Eddie a thumbs up as she linked hands with her boyfriend Ben. The group started walking. It had taken some doing but all of them had lunch together, the one time during the day that they all saw each other. 

“Bev is pulling a C at best.” Richie said, looking at them suspiciously. 

“Which is better than Eddie’s D!” She declared and Eddie nodded. 

“Fine, fine. You wound me, Eddie. I am hurt, distraught, I’ll never recover-” Eddie put a hand over Richie’s mouth, trying to end his lament. 

They made their way to the lunch room, meeting Mike at their usual table.

“Where’s Bill?” Ben asked, looking around. He was usually the first one there.

“Maybe he got kept after class?” Ben asked.

“Yea by Audra. A little student teacher roleplay.” Richie said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Stan rolled his eyes. “They’re just friends, Richie. I know it’s hard to imagine but people can be just friends with someone.”

“Not me.” Richie declared. “I want to sleep with each and everyone of you. Eds especially.” 

Eddie turned pink at that, deciding it was the perfect time to unpack his lunch. The group started eating, catching up on their days and the latest school gossip, when Bill finally walked over. 

He looked out of breath.    
  


“Gu-guys! Did you hear?” He asked, sitting at the table and swiping half of Stan’s sandwich. He was shoving it in his mouth before Stan could even scoff. 

“Did you get to third base?” Richie asked. This time he was met with several eye rolls. 

“Wh-what? No. About Adrian?” Bill’s head whipped to each of them, the camera he wore nearly hitting Mike in the face. Bill was the president of Derry’ High School’s small AV club and he took it very seriously. He lived streamed all of his day, turning the camera off only when forced. He liked to say that it was an easy way to communicate, the camera didn’t care about his stutter, it just observed. All of them hated it but didn’t have the heart to tell him. 

Eddie felt his blood run cold. 

“What happened to Adrian?” He was a year ahead of them, set to graduate in the spring. He and Eddie weren’t friends but they had bonded over being the only out gay kids in a small homophobic town. That had been years ago and since then many others have come out but Eddie and him still shared a bond. 

Beside him Richie turned cold. He’d never liked Adrian, for reasons that Eddie never examined too closely. 

“What did he get awarded golden boy of the century?” He asked, scoffing as he did. 

“Or did his perfect boyfriend propose?” Bev asked. She was willing to go along with Richie’s dislike of him. 

“Be nice. Did he get a scholarship?” Stan asked, always eager to know who was awarded enough money to leave their small town. 

Bill shook his head. “He’s duh-duh-”

“Divorced!” Richie guessed while Bev cried out, “Drunk!” 

“No,” Bill tried again. “He wuh-was k-k-” 

“KO’ed.” Richie guessed.

  
“Shut up!” Eddie said, growing more anxious. Richie and Bev may have been joking around but Bill’s face was serious and worried. “Let Bill fucking talk.”

Richie threw his hands up. “Sorry, Eds, forgot that Adrian was the love of your young life.”

Eddie turned bright red but ignored Richie, focusing on Bill. “What happened?” 

“He’d d-dead.” Bill finally spat out. 

Everyone fell silent, the carefree feeling of the table slipped away. 

“Are you sure?” Stan asked, “I mean we saw him yesterday.” 

Bill nodded, eyes grave. “They f-found his bud-body.” 

Eddie felt eyes on him, then Richie’s hand slipped into his as Ben asked, “Was it, was it a hate crime?” 

“No.” Air rushed back into Eddie’s lungs. A small relief but a relief nonetheless. 

“At least they d-don’t think so.” Bill added. “They f-f-found him dead in his house, his boyfriend was tied up outside, d-dead too. It sounds like the police think it was a random killing, they don’t have any leads.”

“How do you know all this before, Bev?” Stan asked, clearly still skeptical. “How do you know it’s not a prank?” 

Bev’s dad was a cop and, while he didn’t always tell Bev what was going on, she was good at overhearing things and she shared whatever information she gleaned with the others. 

Bill shrugged, stealing some of Richie’s fries. “I saw it on the instagram. Someone posted a picture of the crime scene.”

“That’s awful!” Ben said as Richie and Bev whipped out their phones. Eddie didn’t really want to see but he looked anyway. Luckily the photo was blurry but he could make out Don, tied to a chair and he could see streaks of blood. His stomach churned. 

“They think this was random?” He asked, frowning. “It’s pretty brutal to be random.”

“There’s nothing to say otherwise.” 

“Do you think they’ll do another curfew?” Mike asked, glancing around like he expected the principal to get up and speak any minute. When all the losers were younger the town had insisted a curfew because someone kept kidnapping and killing kids. It went on for nearly a whole summer, everyone in town was terrified and the cops were at their wits end. It ended as brutally as it began, with them finding the person and them choosing death by cop rather than prison. The losers had been young but everyone in town knew the story. 

“My mom will certainly put me on one, even if the town doesn’t.” Eddie mumbled. He got sympathetic looks from his friends. 

“Good thing you’re a pro at sneaking out.” Richie whispered, squeezing Eddie’s hand. He hadn’t let go of it and Eddie didn’t want him to. 

“Shut up.” Eddie protested weakly. It wasn’t that he wanted to sneak out but for years his mom had told him he had to be home by seven pm. He had gotten used to climbing out of his window and meeting the losers at the quarry or to catch a late movie. He didn’t like lying to her but he couldn’t stay trapped. 

“My Eds, rule breaker, renegade.” Richie continued. 

“If you two are done-” Stan said, fixing them with a look. He turned to the table. “Why hasn’t this been announced yet? Everyone loved Adrian and Don.” 

As if on cue the loudspeakers started and the principal’s voice filled the air, talking about how two of their own had been taken and how the police were doing everything they could to find the killer. It ended with an offering for counseling and saying that a vigil would be held for the boys tomorrow night. 

“We should go to that.” Mike said and Eddie nodded. 

Bev and Richie let out a shout of protest. “That’s Greta’s party!” 

“This is more important.” 

Richie looked disappointed and Eddie stepped in. “We can do both, the vigil and then the party. I’m sure everyone else will.”

“Captain of compromise.” Richie said, beaming at him once more. “I’m in.” 

A chorus of ‘me toos’ followed Richie’s statement. The bell rang and everyone darted in separate directions. 

“Eddie! Wait!” Bev called and he stopped. She had class on the opposite side of the building so he figured it was important. 

“Are you okay? I know you and Adrian were… close.” She asked, looking concerned. 

“I’m okay. I think I’m just in shock right now.” He smiled at her and she pulled him in for a hug. 

“If you want to talk.” She said and he nodded. 

“I know, thanks, Bev.” They hugged once more then separated, both heading to class. Eddie was distracted for the rest of the day, wondering why someone would want to kill Adrian and Don. They were fairly well loved in the town. Of course, a few homophobes had threatened to hurt them but those people had been put through the ringer. Everyone else adored the couple. Something about it didn’t sit right with Eddie. He was worried that this wasn’t the end of the story, not at all. In fact, Eddie was sure that this was only the beginning.


	2. Friday Night Lights

**Richie**

It was a weird set up, to say the least. Hundreds of kids, kids Richie didn’t even recognize, were standing on the front lawn of Derry High. The chain linked fence was peppered with cards, flowers, and pictures – little bits of homemade memorials that could be conjured up overnight. 

Richie stood off to the side of the group, determined to not get sucked into the crowd. All the Losers seemed to hold the same feeling, too. No one ventured more than a few feet inward, usually just to talk to another student or give a crushing hug to an acquaintance. 

Eddie made it out, too, but not without a blowout fight with Sonia. He had showed up at Richie’s doorstep with his hair standing in all directions, short of breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. All put together for the party – or Adrian, but Richie tried not to think about that too much – and falling apart at the same time. Richie just gathered him up in his arms and walked them out to his car to bring them to the vigil. 

Now, he’s standing a few feet away, whispering hushed words with Bill. Occasionally, he’ll bring a hand up to swipe at shining eyes and Richie will pretend he doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with his phone or looking around at the moving mass of bodies. He wants to go over there, cut into the conversation and occupy Eddie to get him to stop crying, stop drowning in those memories, but he can’t without looking like an asshole. 

Fucking Adrian. 

He’s not even alive and he’s still ruining any chance Richie had with Eddie. Ever since they were kids, Richie had been completely head over heels for Eddie. He would do anything, even share that shitty cramped hammock in their clubhouse. He’d give Eddie his jackets, his toys, his homework to copy, his lunch snack. 

God, he’d give Eddie the entire world, but has Eddie ever looked Richie’s way? 

No. 

For a while, Richie just thought Eddie was straight. But then, puberty happened and Eddie tripped and fell out of the closet, full throttle. Richie thought he had a chance, a  _ real _ chance this time. 

And then Adrian Mellon happened. 

Adrian, the hot, popular, out gay kid a year ahead of them. Adrian, who would eat lunch with Eddie and give him pointers and advice. Adrian, who Eddie couldn’t  _ shut the fuck up _ about for literal years. God, it made Richie’s blood burn up to see them together. Even when Eddie insisted they weren’t dating, Richie couldn’t help but picture them tangled up together, kissing in the safety of Adrian’s room.

It should have been Richie’s room. 

It should have been Richie’s lips. 

This whole thing was almost hilarious in the most inappropriate ways, too. Here they were, practically the entire student body, gathered around to mourn the violent loss of two senior students and half the crowd was dressed in black while the other half of them were dressed in party clothes. It’s not like they were all dressed like sluts, but Richie doesn’t own any black Hawaiian shirts, so. 

“Real respectful, Tozier.” Someone sneered as they passed by and Richie had to resist the urge to curse them out.  _ Not the place, Richie _ he reminded himself. Sure, it’s not like he even wanted to be here but he won’t be the one to ruin this for everyone. He won’t be the one to make a scene. 

He grips the candle in his hand just a little tighter, ignoring the hushed murmurs that drift at him from every angle. 

Sure, Don and Adrian’s deaths were gruesome, but Richie didn’t even like them. He shouldn’t be here, surrounded by people who did. Deep down, he knew he didn’t belong here. Not after everything. 

Beside him, a stranger openly cries into the arms of their friend. 

“Hey,” Bev said, sliding over to stand next to him. Her arm laced through his, tugging him a little closer. “How you doing, sweetheart?”

“Ugh,” He groaned back, “Why do I have to be here?”

“I know, emotions are so last year.” Her hand ran up and down his arm in soothing motions as she spoke. 

He couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face and he leaned in with a hushed voice, to say, “Someone should tell those chumps over there.”

She looks like she was about to say something, but an amplified voice cut through the crowd. 

“Thank you all for coming,” The boy said. He’s standing upright, gripping the podium and Richie doesn’t recognize him at all. He must be a member of the graduating class, someone who grew up with Adrian and Don, maybe. The thought leaves a heavy feeling in Richie’s gut. “We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the lives of Adrian Mellon and Don Haggarty, taken from us too soon.”

His voice was soothing, the calm in the center of a storm. Around him, the sniffing grew just a little louder. Richie tuned him out, though, only listening to brief segments of his speech. Little clips of  _ Adrian and I met in the second grade, we played by the seesaw together _ and  _ he was the bravest man I knew, never afraid to be his truest self _ . 

A young woman took the stage after, less poised and put together than the first boy. She looked tired, worn down by countless nights without sleep. A perpetual haze of grief and confusion. She was Don’s mother and her hand was held for the duration of her speech by a man with a hard face, a single tear slid down his cheek as his wife spoke. 

Richie felt a churn deep within his stomach and Bev’s grip tightened on his arm. Somewhere next to him, he could hear the distinct sound of Eddie biting back sobs. 

God, this was fucked up, wasn’t it?

The candle lighting didn’t happen fast enough for Richie’s taste. By the time it came, he was practically crawling out of his skin. Someone walked to Eddie and lit his candle, Eddie turned to Bill, who turned to Mike, and eventually their procession ended with Richie turning to the boy who sat in front of him in English class. They shared a flame for a brief second, Richie careful not to catch the ends of his shirt on fire. 

He almost missed it when he turned; the flash of choppy brown hair, the watered down sneer, the blood red cut off shirt. 

What the hell was he doing here? Sure, Richie wasn’t fond of our dearly deceased, but he never went out of his way to make their lives a living hell like Henry Bowers did. Richie has countless memories of Henry and his gang shoving Adrian into lockers, jumping him in the courtyard, starting rumors and wearing looks of pure, unadulterated evil as they passed by in the hall. 

“Bev,” He hissed, “Bev look over there.”

Her gaze followed his, eyes trained on the unwanted guest. It didn’t make sense, Henry didn’t even look sad. He had this twisted look on his face, the patented Bower’s smirk that Richie’s seen a thousand times before. This was a fucking memorial and Henry was here, not even looking a little sad. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Richie whispered, eyes darting around the crowd for any of Henry’s croons. No sight of them. “He hated Adrian and Don, made their lives hell.”

“I heard him mocking them yesterday in the hall, after the news dropped.”

“Those sick fucks.”

A voice rang out around them, again. This time that of a preacher, chanting verses into the microphone to honor the mourned. 

“It’s kind of suspicious, don’t you think?” Richie asked, voice still low to avoid drawing any attention. “I bet he did it and he’s only here to make himself look less guilty.”

Bev only nodded, her own eyes scanning the crowd around them. “How fucked up is that? The killer walking among the slain, surveying his handiwork.”

Richie gritted his teeth, something red and hot boiling under his skin.  _ The killer _ . The implication of those words rang loud and clear. She said what they were all thinking: this wasn’t just a random murder, the person who killed Don and Adrian could easily be anyone in Derry. It could be anyone at all, even someone standing among them right this second. 

God, he needed a drink. 

**Stan**

God, he didn’t want this drink.

He didn’t want to be here at all. This party, it wasn’t his scene. He’d rather be at home, curled up under a blanket with Mike. 

It was supposed to be a continuation of the vigil from earlier, something for the student’s to mourn Adrian and Don’s passing but, like everything in their shitty high school, it had turned into a shitty party with lots of drinking and people sharing fake memories.

Stan hated it. 

He hated most of the people in his school, in his shitty town. They weren’t mourning at all, they were just using it as an excuse to drink. 

Some of his friends included. 

Stan glanced over as Richie and Bev each downed a shot. They had been taking the party piece of the night to heart, determined to get drunk as quickly as possible. Stan shook his head, thinking that both of them should tone it down, at least for Eddie’s sake. The boy was clearly broken up. He’d been huddled in a corner most of the night, talking to Bill. He’d even convinced his friend to turn off that damn camera, a real sign of how affected he was. 

“Hey babe,” Mike said, winding an arm around Stan’s waist and kissing his temple. “You look like someone put a lemon in your drink.”

“It would probably make this shit taste better.” He said, frowning at his plastic cup. “Can we leave? No one would care. It’s not like we were close to them.”

“It’s not for us. It’s for Eddie.” Mike said, glancing at their friend. He’d stopped crying but his eyes were still red and rimmed. 

“This is for Eddie?” Stan gestured at the party, unable to keep the contempt from his voice. “Or is it for Adrian and Don? Because we both know it’s not, Mike. It’s for assholes like Greta and the other popular pricks.”

“You mean the people that Adrian and Don hung out with?” Mike asked, keeping his tone annoyingly even. 

Stan shrugged. He didn’t see the point in pretending that the two of them were perfect just because they were dead. He hadn’t been close with them for a reason. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend to mourn them, Mike. We weren’t friends.” 

Mike nodded, glancing around and sighing. “It is all pretty fake, huh? None of these people knew the real Don or Adrian.”

Stan opened his mouth to reply when he heard a cough behind him. Turning, he saw that it was Bill. “Hey so, Eddie wants to leave. We’re going to go.”

“Are you telling Bonnie and Clyde?” Stan asked, pointing to Eddie Cocran and Bev, who were now playing beer pong with Greta and Betty. Stan frowned- first because Richie had disappeared but then because of the pairing. Since when did Betty or Greta give their friends the time of day? Greta spent most of middle school making Bev’s life hell. And Eddie Cocran, they weren’t close with the other boy but he was in a similar boat, Betty loved to make snide remarks about him to anyone who listened. 

Not that it mattered. Grief- real or fake- made people do strange things. Greta must have decided that she wasn’t going to be a bitch for once in her life. Stan was sure that she’d be back to her witchy self tomorrow. 

Bill glanced over too, shaking his head as Bev jumped up and down in excitement. “No, Eddie is pretty pissed about how they acted at the vigil.”

Mike nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

They said short good byes and then Stan turned to Mike. “Can we leave now? Drop this ruse?” 

Mike nodded, kissing him again. “I want to find Ben though, we can’t leave him alone in this.” 

Stan wanted to be annoyed with Mike’s sometimes overly large heart but he nodded, “I’ll be outside.” 

Mike kissed him once more then turned, weaving through the crowd. 

Stan took one more look at the crowd, shaking his head. Then, to his surprise, he saw Henry on the stairs. He was leaning down and talking to Richie, the two looking closer than Stan had ever seen. Richie looked pissed, he was frowning as Henry talked, but he didn't move away as the other boy whispered in his ear. 

Stan turned away, everyone was acting weird tonight and he just wanted to go home. He hoped that things would be back to normal soon, that they could put the murders behind them and go back to being the losers. 

Stan went outside, leaning against a tree as he waited for Mike. He was scrolling through instagram when he heard someone scream. His head snapped up, trying to tell if it was a scared scream or a sex one. 

His eyes scanned the house, landing on a second floor window. He could see Betty Ripsom, she was backed against a wall and looked terrified. As Stan watched another figure entered the frame. They were wearing a black robe and a horrible clown mask. 

But that wasn’t what Stan focused on. His eyes were trained on the knife in the person’s hand. It was raised, ready to strike. Now he could see that Betty was already bloody, her hands had small cuts in them from an earlier attack.

“Betty!” Stan screamed, unsure what else to do. Surprisingly, both figures heard him. Their heads snapped to Stan. 

“Stan! Help me! Oh god! Help me!” Betty screamed, clawing at the semi opened window. 

As she did the figure in the mask turned to him, shaking its head slowly. Then the figure raised a gloved hand and brought it deliberately across its clothed throat. 

A clear message. 

Betty had gotten the window open and was crawling out, her torso was out and as she raised her legs the killer pulled her back in, slamming the window down on her neck. Betty screamed, the sound ripping through the quiet neighborhood. Someone inside must have heard, Stan was sure of it. But no one else came into the frame. 

Stan was frozen in place, trying to figure out what the hell to do. He was worried that if he ran inside he’d get there too late. But he couldn’t do anything from out here except watch.

As he debated the killer raised their knife and plunged it into Betty’s back. She cried out, screaming for them to leave her alone, that she hadn’t done anything.

The cry spurred him on and Stan ran. He went back inside, shoving people and screaming for them to move. Most people looked at him like he was insane but Stan didn’t care. He ran up the stairs and threw open the first door, scaring the two teens that had been making out on the bed. 

“Oh fuck!” He said, not bothering to explain. Instead, he ran to the next room. This time a gruesome sight welcomed him. Betty Ripsom, laying half in and half out of the window, dead. Blood poured out of her wounds and Stan knew that he had been barely too late. 

Other people spilled in the room, asking what had happened but Stan couldn’t reply. He had seen her die. Seen it and hadn’t been able to do anything.

“Stan? Stan!” He heard Mike calling for him and collapsed into his arms, openly sobbing.

“She’s dead! I saw her die, Mike!” Stan cried. Mike was saying something, asking what had happened, but he couldn’t reply. His words were swallowed by his cries. 

Eventually Mike lead him downstairs and away from the questioning. Outside they found Richie, Ben and Bev, all talking and looking confused. They immediately began asking him questions but Mike told them to hush. 

“Where were you guys? Where the fuck were all of you?” He sobbed, unable to believe that they’d left him alone. If someone else was there he could have helped, could have done something. 

“Stan, we were all inside.” Ben said quietly, not meeting his eye. “I was with Jessica.” 

His friend from math class. 

“And I was with Eddie C.” Bev explained. “Getting drinks. We didn't even notice you two were gone.” 

Stan looked at Richie, who only shrugged. “I was around.” 

“And I was looking for all of them.” Mike added. “It was a big party, Stan.” 

Stan knew, logically, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he was alone for that but, in that moment, he hated his friends. Hated that none of them would meet his eyes, that all of them seemed to be lying. 

“Stan, baby.” Mike said, tilting his chin up. “The police are going to want to talk to you. Do you want me to come with you?”

Stan glanced over, he hadn’t even realized that the police had arrived. He saw Bev’s dad, shaking his head at the body, which finally had a blanket thrown over it. It didn’t remove the image that was burned into Stan’s brain though. Of Betty,  _ dead _ . Of the killer, saying that he was next. 

Stan looked up, his eyes scanning the crowd that had gathered. His classmates, his friends. 

And one of them had just committed a murder.

Stan tried to memorize details, the killer had seemed tall so maybe that excluded Eddie- or was that just because of the angle Stan was at? They’d seemed thin too but it was hard to tell under that robe. He tried to read people’s expressions but everyone just seemed shocked. Except for Richie, who looked like he was itching for a smoke, and Mike, who was too busy comforting him to worry about his own emotions. 

“Please,” He said, looking up at Mike. He wasn’t sure that he could stay upright without Mike there, holding him. 

“Okay, babe.” Mike said, dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”


	3. The Clubhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A curfew was to be enacted until the person responsible for these heinous crimes was caught. Bev couldn’t help but laugh, the idea of her father of all people doing anything right was too amusing. She couldn’t imagine a drunk like him catching a mouse in their apartment, let alone a masked killer.

**Bev**

As soon as the door to the clubhouse latched shut, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. 

The vigil for Don and Adrian had been on a Friday, which meant the murder of Betty Ripsom happened the same night. The weekend was a flurry of grief and tough conversations. Mostly, everyone was with their families while they tried to maintain some semblance of a normal life. The news droned on in most living rooms playing live coverage of the town hall meeting Sheriff Marsh held on Sunday morning. 

A curfew was to be enacted until the person responsible for these heinous crimes was caught. Bev couldn’t help but laugh, the idea of her father of all people doing anything right was too amusing. She couldn’t imagine a drunk like him catching a mouse in their apartment, let alone a masked killer. 

Now, it was Sunday evening. Everyone managed to break away for a moment of peace, gathering in the only place the Losers could truly feel free and safe. 

The underground clubhouse. 

By the time she got there, Bill was already inside. His legs had long since outgrown the shoddy hammock they hung there when they first built the place, but that didn’t stop him from lounging in it, overgrown limbs dangling out at various spots. In his hands, he fiddled with his camera. The red light blinked, so she knew it was on. 

Richie and Eddie were also there. They were standing off to the side, some hushed conversation happening between them. She couldn’t tell if Eddie looked delighted or frustrated at whatever Richie was saying, but she didn’t stop to find out. 

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that Derry is officially under lockdown.”

Richie looked over at her, smiling a greeting before asking, “Do they really think a curfew is going to stop whoever this jackass is?” 

“It won’t stop him but it might save some lives. I mean, both murders happened at night, right? It only makes sense,” Eddie said. He looked a little better than he had the last time she saw him. He had a little more life to his eyes, a little more strength in his spine. 

Beside her, Stan sat as still as a board. He was pressed up against the wall, knees drawn to his chest. He hadn’t said a single word since they shut the top latch. Hell, she didn’t think he’s said anything all day. Not at lunch, not in any of their classes. She wondered, vaguely, if he’s said anything at all since the police interrogation. When she asked her dad about it, he said Stan was as white as a ghost and the words that tumbled out of his mouth were broken gibberish. 

Mike had to translate a lot of it. 

She tried not to think about all of the _other_ things her dad said about Mike. 

“Stan,” She said, grabbing his attention, “Are you okay?”

He hardly looked at her, glancing up and then back down to his feet. “The police are right. We shouldn’t even be down here. What time is it?” His voice was nothing but a ghost, no emotion behind it. 

Beside him, Bill said, “Its nuh-nearly four.”

“Curfew is soon. We shouldn’t be down here,” Stan repeated. 

“Bullshit,” Richie said, “I’m not letting some freak in a cloak ruin my nights. What, am I just supposed to go to school and then go right home? I’d never get to see you guys, ‘specially my little Eds over here.”

Bev watched as Richie pulled Eddie into a more than friendly headlock, which Eddie struggled to get out of. Stan looked less than amused. If anything, he looked upset. It was the first real emotion she’d seen on his face since the party. 

“Stan,” She whispered, bending down to get close to him. “Don’t worry about curfew. We’re all together, it can’t get us like this. We're too strong. Even if that bastard tried anything, we’d protect you.”

She could tell her words didn’t have the intended effect. He looked calmer, but only by a margin. His eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened he looked far away. She could still hear his screams of _where were you guys, where the fuck were all of you_ echoing in her ears.

Before she could reply, the latch to the clubhouse jiggled three times in quick succession. Richie reached up and slid the lock. After a second, the door slid open and Mike dropped inside. 

“Sorry I’m late. What’d I miss?”

“Richie just being a dick, as usual,” Eddie said. There was no heat behind his words. The two of them stood just close enough for the arms to brush despite the ample standing room.

Idly, Bev wondered how much longer it would take for one of them to stop being stupid and just make the first move. 

“Hey, where’s Ben?” Bill asked. He looked around, as if he was trying to confirm Ben wasn’t there. “I thought he was coming with you?”

“He texted me telling me not to wait up,” Mike shrugged. “I thought he left already. No one else hear from him?”

There was a chorus of _no_ followed by shaking heads. Mike glanced to Bev, looking for confirmation. 

“I haven’t seen him since history,” She said. “He told me he had something to take care of.”

He hadn’t specified what it was and she hadn’t asked, but now she wished she had. 

“Weird.” Instead of lingering on the topic, Mike turned settled into the space right beside Stan. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Stan willingly went, falling into the space between Mike’s shoulder and his head. It was a comforting position. “What’ch’y’all been up to?”

“Oh, nothing,” Richie hummed, “Just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Some crazy shit,” Is all Mike said. Bev didn’t have to tell him about the curfew. Mike knew. Besides, even if he didn’t he was never really in Derry past nightfall anyway. 

“Who do you think it is?” Richie asked. His voice had gone from joking to a solemn serious. “I mean, do you guys think it’s someone from Derry or some freak outsider that’s come to kill us all for our unforgivable sins?” 

For a moment, he sounded like he was about to slip into one of his voices, but he didn’t. His voice trailed off at the end and he glanced around the room before scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floorboard. 

“All the victims have been high schoolers,” Eddie said, “Do you think it’s a teacher?”

God, a teacher. 

That would be so fucked up. For a second, Bev let herself think about all of the familiar faces that lined the halls of Derry High. She tried to imagine Mr. Gardener, her fifth period English teacher, murdering students in his spare time. She could see his face in the hood of the cloak, a knife in his hand. The image didn’t look quite right, though. It looked like a twisted caricature, unnatural and haunting. When she tried to think about it for too long, his features melted into something unrecognizable. 

Then, she thought about Mr. Keene down at the pharmacy. Now _that’s _a face she could see under the mask. His eyes were sunken, his features sinister. The way he looked at her still lingered on her skin. His features didn’t twist under the shadow of the hood, they were already haunting. She could easily see the knife in his hands. 

“What if it was another _student_,” Mike said, following up on Eddie’s train of thought.

Another student. Now that’s a thought. 

“But who would be fucked up enough to kill their classmates?” Bev asked, leaning in toward the boys. 

“I can think of one person,” Richie said. 

Bev knew who he was talking about. She’s pretty sure everyone knew.

“I bet it was him, too,” Richie continued. “He was at the party, and for no reason! He’s made a living off of making other people’s lives hell and I’m betting he’s taken it one step further. That kid is twisted. He’s got a knife, too! We’ve all seen it! He’s probably stalking around in the woods, right this second!”

“What, do you think this is? Some kind of slasher movie?” Mike picked up a twig from where he was sitting and lobbed it at Richie. It bounced off his shoulder and they all suffered through a long, dramatic enactment of his death. 

He grabbed his shoulder, hunching over in pretend pain as he cried out, “Mikey, Mikey why! I thought we were friends! How could you be the masked killer, I thought you loved us!”

Mike only fueled the fire and laughed, throwing his head back and picking up another stick to chuck at Richie’s crumpled form. 

Bill watched for a moment before he cut into their fun. “Wuh-why couldn’t it be?”

“What are you talking about?” Mike asked, suddenly serious. 

“I mean, come on,” Bill started. “Those movies all start out the same. Random kuh-kid dies. Than another, then it st-starts getting the inner circle. And everyone gets puh-puh-picked off. Until the final kid is left standing in the wreckage.”

“Maybe,” Bev said, eyes sparkling. Bill caught hers, ready to play the game they’ve both become so accustomed to. “The killer is in this very room.”

“Maybe he’s waiting. Wuh-waching. _Planning. _Writing his list and getting ready to _strike.”_

“Or her list.” 

Her eyes challenged his. The camera raised, just a little bit. As she watched him finger the zoom button, she tried to put on as sinister of a face as she could manage. In the end, both of them ended up breaking down into giggles. 

Bill was the master of horror and Bev loved to play off of his ideas. Every Loser had read one of his short stories, all of them ending in gruesome tails of blood and betrayal. Sometimes he incorporated supernatural elements into them, sometimes they were mostly suspense, sometimes the ending was left on some crazy cliff hanger. It was hard to take him seriously when the horror genre was 90% of his personality. Hell, he was probably only monologuing because his camera was on and he wanted to make sure he got something dramatic. 

But Bill always knew how to shake up a room with his bloody ghost stories. And Bev always knew how to play into them. Sure, Bill could spin a spooky tale but with Bev? The two of them could send a room into shivers. 

No one else seemed to care, though. Eddie looked visibly shaken. Mike had a protective arm around Stan, whose eyes were clenched shut. Even Richie looked pale at the idea that they could be targeted. That the killer could be someone in this very room. 

Eddie was the one to break the silence. 

“Not fucking funny, guys.”

“You’re right,” Bev said. Eddie’s eyes were what got her. He looked genuinely scared as they darted around the room. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I was just trying to have fun. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She walked toward him and wrapped him up in a hug. Immediately, he melted into her. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. No one moved, no one said anything. The only thing that hung between them all were the thoughts of blood and funerals. They were all acutely aware of the setting sun. 

Again, Bev let her mind wander to the image of Mr. Keene and a blood soaked knife. 

“Richie,” Stan said, voice cutting through the silence like a dull butter knife. “Why were you talking to Bowers that night?”

“What?” Richie looked startled. He looked at Stan for a moment before looking away, playing with the string of his hoodie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

“I saw you two on the stairs.”

“Wait,” Eddie cut in, “You were with Bowers at the party?”

“It’s not what you think,” Richie said, voice a little thinner than before. “It was nothing. He shouldn’t have been there and I made sure to tell him that.”

“Oh?” Bev asked, leaning in toward Richie. He looked nervous in the dim lights of the clubhouse and something didn’t sit right with her. Something sounded off in the tone of his voice. Richie Tozier was not much for lying. 

“Don’t start with me,” Richie sneered, “You were with Greta _and_ Betty. Right before Betty died.”

Bev tensed with the accusation. Logically, she knew Richie was only accusing her to get Eddie off his back but that didn’t stop her from stepping forward. Richie matched her, chest rising with frustration. 

Stan winced, watching as his two friends seemed to size each other up. Bill watched, too, unsure of how to butt in. 

“Guh-guh-guh,” His stutter clicked like a bad car engine, worsening with the rising tension in the room. 

“What about Mike, huh?” Richie asked. “If we’re gonna start pointing fingers, might as well point at everyone! Where was he?”

“Richie, I wasn’t pointing a finger at you,” Eddie said, trying to squash the fight. 

“I was looking for Ben.”

“And did you find him?”

Mike hesitated, before saying, “No, I didn’t.”

“Guys!” Bill managed. His voice was a demanding sound that caught the attention of the entire room. Everyone calmed in an instant, turning to their leader. His camera was still clutched in his hand, red light blinking. “Nuh-no one here is the kuh-kuh-killer.”

Through his stutter, he managed to break the spell that had come over them. Silently, Richie murmured an apology. Eddie took his hand and squeezed it in a reassuring way. Mike nodded and Bev backed down, returning to her corner of the clubhouse leaning against the wall. 

It was silent again, until it wasn’t. Through the sound of their own breathing, something crunched above them. It was rhythmic and quick, distant but growing louder. It sounded like footsteps, loud and approaching. 

“Guys,” Mike said, voice only a whisper. “Do you hear that.”

“Of course we fucking hear it,” Richie hissed. He crouched low, as if that would make him invisible. 

They all listened close, hardly breathing anymore as the steps got louder and louder until they settled right above the trapdoor. 

No one moved. No one spoke. Bev locked eyes with Bill as if to say if anything happens, we fight. Bill only nodded. 

Above them, the door rattled. 

Bill slipped out of the hammock. Eddie backed up, pressing himself against the wall. 

The door rattled again. 

“Shit,” Mike whispered. He was standing now. Stan was shielded with his body, swallowed by the shadow with his hair clutched tightly between his fingers. 

Again, the door rattled. 

Except this time, it sounded like three distinct clicks in quick succession. 

“Fucking hell,” Bill breathed, reaching up and undoing the latch. 

Above them, Ben slipped through the opening. He landed right in the center of them, and fuck he looked happy to see them. Those who weren’t backed up against a wall looked ready to throw down. No one talked, no one even moved. Bev could still feel the adrenaline kicking through her veins. 

“Jeez,” Ben said. “Looks like we’re having a regular old party down here.”

Ben gravitated to Bev’s side before he stopped and looked around the room. All eyes were on him, even hers. 

He looked disheveled. His hair was poking out in weird places and his face was flushed. It looked as if he ran here, and if she wasn’t thinking too hard that’s probably what she would have thought, but she was thinking too hard and so were the others. 

Ben didn’t look like Ben right now. 

He looked out of sorts. 

“What?”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Richie asked. His arms were crossed and his eyes were sharp as he looked Ben up and down, almost as if he was analyzing him. “You’re always the first one here.”

“Whoa.” Ben’s hands shot up as if to defend himself. “Some kid checked out a thousand books for a history report and he returned them all today. I stayed late to help get all the booked shelved.”

“On a Sunday?” Mike asks. 

The skepticism that had been in the room only moments ago was back, only Ben had no idea why all fingers were currently pointing at him. 

Sensing what was going on, Bill stepped forward. He rested one hand on Ben’s shoulder and spoke.

“We’re glad you made it.”

Somehow, that diffused anything that could have happened. No one asked anymore questions, no one pointed anymore fingers. The room was subdued into a mockery of their normal selves. Everyone was still on guard, but no one said anything they might regret. Any talk of the killer was limited to outside guesses. No more jokes, no more light hearted accusations. It wasn’t worth the fear it caused. 

Sooner rather than later, they dispersed. Bev watched as her boys climbed out of the clubhouse one by one. Everyone hugged each other like they meant it, like it could be the last time they saw anyone. 

As she watched them all make their way home, she thought to herself _for all we knew, it might be._

**Eddie**

Once the group broke up Eddie biked home faster than he ever had before, trying to get home before curfew. In front of the others he could have lied and said that it was because he was scared of his mom’s wrath, of her grounding him until graduation, but once he was alone he could admit the real reason. 

He was scared, okay? Fucking terrified of being next. He still hadn’t gotten over losing Adrian or Don and now Betty was dead too. He felt like he couldn’t talk to the others about it, not like he wanted to. None of them understood his relationship with Adrian and a few had even hated him.

He thought about that as he biked. Richie had always hated Adrian, even if Eddie never fully understood why. Stan was clearer in his feelings- Adrian had beat him out for a spot on the varsity baseball team and he’d never gotten over it. Even Bev didn’t like Don and by extent Adrian for some reason-

No, he couldn’t think that like. He wouldn’t. If he couldn’t trust his friends he was alone and that thought was far scarier than anything else. 

Eddie put his bike away right as five pm hit, entering the house and shouting to let his mom know he was home. 

“Don’t just yell at me, Eddiebear, I’m not one of your hooligan friends. Come over and say hello.” She chided. 

Swallowing a sigh he walked over to her lazy boy and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Hi Ma, how was your day?” He asked.

She barely looked away from her soap opera as she replied. “It was fine, Eddie, thank you for asking. And yours?”

“Good, Ma.”

A commercial hit and she turned to him, a simpering smile on her lips. “There, now that wasn’t so hard was it?”

“No, Ma.” He replied dutifully. 

“Good. Now run upstairs, dinner will be in an hour.”

He nodded, grateful for the easy escape. Sometimes she would insist that he sit and watch the show with her, saying they needed to spend time together, that she was lonely. It always worked. No one could work a guilt trip like Sonia and Eddie fell for it every time. It was just the two of them against the world, she’d say. His father had died, leaving her all alone, and now Eddie was all she had. The words had lost their meaning over the years but they were still damn effective. 

In his room Eddie fell onto his bed, eyeing his homework. He knew that he should start it. Even with the murders they still had reports and essays due but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he glanced at his phone. In the GC everyone was sounding off that they’d gotten home safely- Eddie was the 6th to reply. Mike would be last since he lived so much further away. 

He had a text from Richie too. 

‘U ok?’ 

He stared at it, trying to think of how to reply. Because honestly no, he wasn’t okay. These murders were getting to him and he couldn’t tell the others why, not yet. He wished that Richie was here. He was used to the other boy sneaking over, reading comics with him late into the night, but that hadn’t happened in the last few months. Something had changed in Richie, shifted, and Eddie didn’t understand it. He wanted his old friend back but wasn’t sure how to tell him that. 

Instead of saying any of that Eddie simply replied with, ‘I’m fine’. All the other things he wanted to say were too big to put in a text, things that he wanted to tell Richie in person, one day. Maybe when all this was over, when the killer was caught and the curfew was lifted and their lives were back to normal. Then Eddie could tell Richie everything. 

A second after sending the message his phone buzzed. Eddie answered without even looking, assuming that it was Richie calling. 

“Dude, I told you I’m-”

“Hello Eddie,” A distorted voice answered. “I’m so glad you answered.” 

Eddie bolted upright. The voice wasn’t Richie or any of his friends. It didn’t even sound like a person. “Hello? Who- who is that?”

“Oh Eddie, you know the answer to that. You may be failing math but we both know you aren’t dumb.” The voice was mechanical, obviously run through some distorter. Bill had one that he liked to use to make his dumb videos, pretending to be interviewing war criminals or some shit. 

He swallowed. He did know who it was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “It’s the killer right? You’re the murderer.”

“Ding ding ding, let’s give the boy a prize.” 

“How the fuck did you get my number?” 

“Eddie, that’s the least important thing you should be asking me right now. Because I’m nice I’ll let you ask a different question.” The voice was taunting him, playing with him. 

Eddie hopped off his bed, pacing in his room as he tried to figure out what the hell to do. Should he hang up? Should he try to record it? 

“What do you want?” He asked, deciding to pull up his laptop and message his friends about this. One of them was sure to have an idea. 

“Just to- _chat_. Talk. I think we have a lot to talk about, don’t you?” 

“No.”

“Oh, Eddie, don’t lie. Let’s not lie to each other. We both know you have questions that only I can answer. Try to think of one, Eddie.” 

“Should we talk about- Adrian?” His name felt like ash in Eddie’s mouth, a reminder of how he was truly gone. 

The voice laughed coldly. “No, no I think Adrian’s part in this story has ended. He won’t be a problem anymore. Not for me or anyone else.” 

“Who then?” 

“Hm,” The person pretended to think. Eddie’s knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the phone. “What about your friends? Maybe we should talk about them. Bill. Ben. Mike. Richie.” There was a slightly halt at Richie’s name, making fear pool in Eddie’s stomach. “Can you trust them, Eddie? It seems like they’re all hiding something from you.”

“Of course I trust them.” He gritted out. “They’re my friends.” 

“Even Ben? The friend that none of you could find. Bev? Who was with Betty up until she died? Or-” The voice paused, letting the accusations hang in the air. “Or Richie? He was talking to Bowers at the party after all. Suspicious, don’t you think?” 

His computer booted up slowly and internally he cursed how slow it was. He’d asked his mom for a new one for years but she’d always insisted that he would just use it for porn if it was faster. He had to try to stall. 

A chill ran through Eddie. “How- how do you know any of that?” 

They’d just been talking about it. It was impossible for the killer to know any of this. Unless-

He shook his head, refusing to go down that path. 

“Oh, Eddie. I know lots of things. Lots and lots of things.” The voice chuckled. It was a horrible sound, like static coming over an old radio. 

“Fuck you. I don’t want to talk about my friends.” 

“Fine fine. If you don’t want to talk about them then what about someone else? What about- what about your father? Good ol’ Frank Kaspbrak?”

Eddie had been typing in his password but now he froze. 

“My- my dad? What about him?” His dad had been dead for over a decade. There was no way he was connected to any of this. 

“He wasn’t quite the saint that you’ve been lead to believe.” 

Eddie sat on his bed, all thoughts of talking to the others forgotten.

“What the fuck does that mean?” There was panic in his voice, a fear that he wished he could keep out. He knew so little about his dad. His mom wouldn’t tell him anything besides that he had been a good man and a mechanic. He’d died of cancer when Eddie was young. 

“Oh, Eddie. Don’t be upset. Someone had to tell you eventually.”

“Tell me what?!” He demanded. 

“That your father was scum. Lying scum.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“No, he wasn’t! You’re lying!” He screamed into the phone. His chest felt tight with anger and pride. “My dad was amazing! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Oh Eddie, you’ll understand soon enough.” 

“Fuck you! I don’t have to listen to you! Who is this? Who are you?”

The other end clicked and the only response to Eddie was a dial tone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a hot minute! Sorry about that. Both of us are wrapped up in other projects, the holidays slammed us, and I (Emily(the_lazy_eye)) have been in school. We're back, though. And ready to kill >:)
> 
> Come chat with us @reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com and tinyarmedtrex.tumblr.com
> 
> Also, give us your theories in the comments. We're dying to know what you think


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why were you with Bowers, Richie?”
> 
> Shit.
> 
> “What are you talking about?”
> 
> A beat of silence passed between them. It was a little thick, but Richie tried not to notice. This wasn’t the time for a conversation like this. Not when Eddie was shaking and going on about phone calls and dead fathers. 
> 
> “Stan said you were with him at the party,” Eddie said after a moment. 
> 
> “Stan saw someone get murdered at the party, I’m not sure if he can trust his eyes right now,” Richie said. He couldn’t come out and say it. Eddie would never look at him the same again. And that… that would truly kill him. 

**Richie**

He could see Eddie pacing back and forth through his window. He looked scared, like something really shook him up. Things were tense when they left the clubhouse and there was no way Richie was letting Eddie brush him off with a bullshit text. He knew him better than that. 

He climbed the tree easily, years of practice telling him what branches to place his hands on. In no time, he was several feet off the ground and poised to knock on Eddie’s window. 

He expected a smile or a middle finger, maybe a quick jump at being startled. He didn’t expect Eddie to all but scream and throw his phone across the room. His eyes were wide and panicked and his face had almost no color in it. His chest was heaving and - fuck. He’s going to have an asthma attack. 

“Eds? It’s me!” 

It took a few seconds for Eddie’s eyes to refocus before he walked over and unlatched the window. He didn’t open it, though, leaving Richie to push the glass up from the outside. By the time he made it inside, Eddie was sitting on the bed and staring down at his hands. 

“Hey, man. Just wanted to come by and see if you’re okay but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re not.” He settled on the bed, waiting for some smart response or an angry quip. Neither came. “Eds? Look, I know this is all scary but you can talk to me.”

He wanted to do more than talk.

Eddie looked so small next to him, all pale skin and fragile eyes. God, he wanted to wrap Eddie up in his arms and never let go. He didn’t deserve to be so scared right now. Of all people, Eddie was too perfect for any of that. 

One day, he was going to tell him that. 

Not today, though. Not right now. 

“I won’t let you get hurt,” He tried again. 

Finally, Eddie turned to him. When he spoke, his voice was shaking. “I don’t understand what's happening, Rich.”

“There’s some sicko on the loose. The cops are gonna catch him, it’ll be no big deal.”

“I think there’s more than that, Richie.”

Eddie handed Richie his phone, the screen open to a call log. The most recent call was from an unknown number. 

His stomach dropped at the sight of it. 

“What’s this?”

“I got a phone call, right before you arrived. I don’t know who it was, their voice was all distorted and weird. They knew me, though. They killed Adrian and Betty. They said ‘I’d understand why soon enough.’”

“What the fuck.” Richie’s blood ran cold Eddie’s words. He could tell Eddie was leaving something out. Maybe more than just one thing. His eyes were still that shocked, their wide expanse unchanging as he spoke. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Richie said. His stomach dropped even further. Something didn’t feel right - it was like he was being backed into a corner. Like Eddie was one step away from putting pieces together. What pieces, he didn’t know. 

“Your parents knew my dad, right?”

Richie released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Something like relief swelled up in him, followed by confusion. “Yeah, they did. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“I just… With everyone dying I've been thinking about him. We’re coming up on the anniversary.”

Richie could punch himself. How could he have forgotten? With the chaos of the last few days, it had slipped his mind entirely. Normally, around this time of year Eddie was planning the day he’d go to his father’s grave. 

“And - I don’t know. It’s stupid. I was wondering if they ever said anything about him? Anything about who he was or what he was like?”

“Sorry, Eds, Frank isn’t really a common topic in the Tozier household. I’ve never heard them say anything bad about him, though. Just that he was quite the ladies man in highschool. You know, before he settled down with your mom.”

Eddie hummed. He looked serious now, eyes furrowed and fists clenched in his lap. It was obvious that he was deep in thought. It gave Richie a chance to sit back and think about everything that had happened. Everyone was so keyed up in the clubhouse, almost as if they were going to turn on each other. He could see it, if he closed his eyes. Bev looked so angry yet so smug and Richie had let his temper run away with him. Again. And Stan, he loved Stan but why did he have to bring up Henry? The last thing he needed was- 

“Why were you with Bowers, Richie?”

Shit.

“What are you talking about?”

A beat of silence passed between them. It was a little thick, but Richie tried not to notice. This wasn’t the time for a conversation like this. Not when Eddie was shaking and going on about phone calls and dead fathers. 

“Stan said you were with him at the party,” Eddie said after a moment. 

“Stan saw someone get murdered at the party, I’m not sure if he can trust his eyes right now,” Richie said. He couldn’t come out and say it. Eddie would never look at him the same again. And that… that would truly kill him. 

The way Eddie looked at him hurt, but it was worth it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just that he’s gone through some serious shit in the past few days. He’s probably a little jumpy. Any of us would be after what he saw.”

“That’s really unfair, Richie,” Eddie said. His eyes shifted from concerned to angry. “It’s getting late. You should get home.”

“I’m not leaving you like this, Eds,” Richie said. Something else passed over Eddie’s face, something that gave him hope that maybe he could stay the night. Maybe Eddie would let him curl on the floor like he did when they were in middle school. 

But childhood memories don’t hold up in the harsh lighting of Eddie’s bedside lamp. 

Eddie’s voice was cool and even when he spoke. “My mom is downstairs, Rich. Really, you should go.”

It made something burn just under the surface, something bitter and angry. Eddie really wasn’t being fair. Richie came over to comfort him, not get interrogated and thrown out the second he sat down. 

“Alright,” He said, trying to match Eddie’s tone. It wasn’t hard once he shut his feelings down. If Eddie wanted to be like that, then fine. “I guess I should go. After all, there’s a killer on the loose. I’d hate to get cut in the nighttime.”

He’s out the window before Eddie could even reply. 

**Bill**

“Can’t you turn that thing off for one fucking minute?” Stan snapped, glaring at Bill. 

Bill didn’t take it personally. He knew how everyone else felt about the camera. They had all made that abundantly clear how despised it was but they also knew that he wasn’t going to turn it off for anything. “No, especially now we need to record this shit. We need to remember.”

“As if we’ll ever forget.” Stan said, still glaring at him.

“We’re gonna take a minute.” Mike said, throwing an arm around his boyfriend and kissing the top of his head. Everyone was silent as the two of them walked away from the lunch table. Stan had been on edge since the party. No one blamed him but they were also all sick of getting yelled at. Bill didn’t know how Mike did it, dealt with Stan blowing up at him. The man was a fucking saint. 

Stan’s latest anger was directed at Bill and his filming. Bill had caught him crying earlier in the day and Stan wanted him to delete it. Bill had refused, trying to explain that capturing raw emotions was the point but Stan hadn’t wanted to listen. He’d thought they were fine until Stan had brought it up again at lunch. 

“If Stan would just fucking smoke with me he’d chill out real quick.” Richie said, shaking his head and shoving some of Mike’s abandoned fries in his mouth. 

“Hey,” Bev swatted Richie. “Don’t start giving out our weed. I work hard to get that shit.” 

Richie threw an arm around her, doing some dumb accent that everyone but Eddie hated and the two of them launched into a conversation about some show they were both watching.

Bill stopped listening, instead turning his attention the rest of the lunch room and all the other interactions that were taking place. In his mind he was writing his screenplay, explaining how this space was the best place to observe typical high school behavior, where to see people as their true selves. All the groups had to come together here, had to interact one some level, and where you sat indicated where you were in the pecking order. 

He scanned the room, wondering if the murderer was among them. It seemed ridiculous to think that it was another teenager but it made for good TV. Bill’s videos had nearly twice as many viewers since all this had started, everyone wanted the inside scoop. He’d started filming a tell all on Sundays, walking people through the latest happenings and his list of suspects. Was it one of the band geeks, wanting revenge for being ignored? Was it one of the popular kids, trying to climb the ladder even higher? Or, Bill’s head swivelled to his friends, was it a loser, just trying to even the score?

The last thought made Bill chuckle. He knew it wasn’t his friends. It could be anyone else in the school but he was sure it wasn’t one of them. These were the people he trusted with his life, there was no way they could hurt someone. 

The bell rang and everyone cleared their spots, Bill following Richie to their next class as they talked about Stan. 

“He needs to chill. I’m sick of getting attacked for opening my mouth.” Richie said, chewing on a toothpick. Eddie had been bringing them to help break Richie of his smoking habit. Bill had no idea if it was actually helping or if Richie had just stopped smoking in front of Eddie. 

“Like that’s any d-d-different than before.” Bill replied, earning a wiry grin from Richie.

“Touche, Ol’ pal.” Richie’s eyes glanced to the camera. “Ben still helping you edit those videos?” 

Bill shrugged. “He muh-missed the last few times. Don’t know why.” 

They fell into their seats, both opening their bags. 

“Fuck!” Bill swore, digging through his bag. “I bru-brought my math book instead of history.”

“Run Forrest run!” Richie said dramatically, pointing to the door. “I’ll tell Stevens what happened.”

Bill nodded gratefully, rushing to his locker and swapping out his books. But as he headed back to class he heard a familiar voice in a very unfamiliar tone. 

“No one can know. You get it?” Bill heard Mike say as he ducked into a door frame then peered around the corner. He could just barely see his friend shoving a smaller kid into a locker. Mike, his calm, collected friend, was threatening the other boy. Bill pressed zoom on his camera, trying to capture everything. 

“No one. It would ruin everything.” Mike added. Bill barely recognized his friend. He’d only seen Mike angry once or twice, usually about people mistreating animals, but right now he looked pissed, maybe a little afraid, as he threatened the other student. 

“Nod if you understand.” Mike said, his forearm across the boy’s chest. 

The boy nodded, looking like he was about to shit himself. 

“Good. Now go.” Mike released the boy and he ran past Bill. Only then did Bill recognize him as Dorsey Corcoran. He was grade below the losers and was widely considered one of the smartest kids in school. 

“What the hell?” Bill asked himself, peering around the corner again. Mike was still standing there, his head against the locker and mumbling to himself. Bill counted to five then came out, calling to Mike once he was closer.

“You okay, man?” Bill asked, trying to glean any sort of clue for what the hell he had just seen.

Mike was already back to the man he knew though. He offered Bill a small smile, nodding. “Yeah, just grabbed the wrong book.”

“Same.” Bill held his up, noticing that Mike wasn’t holding one.

“Are you-” He hesitated. “Is everything okay? For real?” 

He knew it was a dumb question, none of them were really doing okay but he needed to ask. His mind was still trying to rationalize what he had just seen with the friend he’d known for years. 

Mike nodded. 

“Yeah, it’s okay. For real.” He gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I gotta get to class though. See you later?” 

“Yeah, alright.” Bill watched Mike walk down the hall, wondering what the hell he had just seen. 

Soon the exchange was the last thing on his mind. Class, homework, and AV club pushed it out of his mind. Bill didn’t think about it again until later when he was in the AV room, editing his footage for the day. Everything was streamed live but he tried to pick a few highlights every day to throw on his channel. He was watching the confrontation with Mike, debating whether to include it. On one hand, it was the most interesting thing that had happened that day but on the other, Mike was his friend and Bill knew that he wouldn’t want it included.

“Then he shouldn’t have done it in school.” Bill decided, adding the short clip to the video. It was unlikely that many people would see it, he knew his friends rarely watched them. That was okay though, they were there for when he was famous, so people could look back and see where he’d started.

Satisfied, he uploaded the video and grabbed his bag. It was nearly dinner and his mom would kill him if he was late again. 

The school was nearly empty, practices and clubs had ended hours ago. Bill loved this, loved being alone in the school. Everything was quiet and a little creepy. It gave him time to think. He mulled over Mike’s weird behavior again. Richie’s, too. And then there was Ben, who usually helped him edit but had been making excuses the last few weeks. Eddie seemed on edge and Bev had been quieter than normal. He had no idea whether to chalk everything up to the stress of the situation or if there was something more going on. 

Bill had been talking outloud, a habit that he’d started to help with his stutter and that he continued for his videos, when he heard a noise from down the hall. 

“Weird. The janitor should be in the gym.” He said, turning to the noise. He debated for a second, knowing he’d be late if he went to investigate.

“Mom will understand.” He decided, walking towards the noise that had come from one of the science rooms. To his surprise he saw Ben, exiting a lab room and glancing around guiltily. Again, Bill ducked into a corner, watching his friend. He looked tousled, like he’d been fighting with someone. And nervous. Even from far away Bill could see that Ben was flushed. Bill was starting to wonder if he really knew his friends at all.

Ben started heading down the hallway, away from Bill, and, impulsively, Bill decided to follow him. He hadn’t confronted Mike, the guy was the star quarterback, but Bill wasn’t as scared of Ben. He was the gentlest person Bill knew- even if he was being shady now- and Bill wanted answers from someone before the day was done. 

Bill followed him down the hall and to the basement, where Ben disappeared through a door that led outside. He was about to go through it when something hit him from behind, knocking his camera off.

“What the-” Bill bent down, grabbing the camera when something hit him again, harder. For a second he saw double, pain welling up in his head and making it impossible to move, to think. The hit knocked him to the floor and when Bill’s hand went to his head it came away tacky with blood. 

“Couldn’t just leave it alone could you?” A distorted voice asked. 

Bill turned so he was on his back, staring up in horror at a robed figure in a clown mask holding a bat that read ‘Derry Baseball Team’ across the side. 

“Who-” He started, reaching for his camera again but the figure raised their bat, smashing it into a million pieces. Bill stared at it for several seconds, his brain trying to work through what was happening. It didn’t make sense. Everything felt hard to think through, like he was wading through mud, trying to work out what happened. 

“Couldn’t just stop fucking filming.” The figure raised their bat again. Bill tried to move back but his head was still swimming and the figure advanced on him. There was no way out. The hallway seemed impossibly long and he could barely even see the door anymore. 

Bill threw up an arm, trying to protect himself, but it didn’t matter. The bat cracked across his bone and pain seared in him as his arm made a sickening cracking noise. It was broken, he was sure of it. He had started to cry at some point, snot mixing with blood as the pain throbbed in him. It was all he could think about, his only thought was how to make it stop. 

Above him, the masked figure seemed to be enjoying this. A small chuckle escaped their lips and Bill saw their head shake. “So weak. You were always so fucking weak.” 

“Fah-fah-fuck you!” He screamed. For a second they watched as Bill tried to get away, letting him scoot back several inches before advancing again. 

“Couldn’t stop asking questions.” Another hit, more blood poured from his head. “Couldn’t let it go.” Another. Bill couldn’t breath without pain. It enveloped him, covering every part of his body like a blanket. He’d never hurt like this before, not when he was a kid and he fell out of his treehouse, not when Henry had beat him up, not even when he’d been hit by a car, shattering several bones. All of those paled in comparison to this. 

“Who-” Bill coughed, red flecks came out and covered his shirt. “Who are yuh-yuh-you?” He needed to know. Bill understood now, he wasn’t going to make it home for dinner, he’d never ride Silver or laugh with the losers again. This was his last act, the last thing he could do was find out who the hell was behind this, even if he’d never know why. 

“Come find out.” The figure bent down, close enough that Bill could pull off the mask and see the familiar face underneath, grinning mancially at him. 

“Surprise Billy boy.” 

Before he could say anything the bat came down one final time and Bill stopped moving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, its been a hot minute but look! A new chapter! And, bonus, we plotted out the rest of the fic so really, we're basically there. :P Thanks for sticking with us folks! Looking forward to hearing your guesses and thoughts!


End file.
